A Christmas Carol for Draco Malfoy
by MadMarchHare
Summary: Draco Malfoy is a snobby, egotistical, selfish, wretched, pompous idiot and he needs to be taught a lesson. With the help of four ghosts, can he really discover the christmas spirit? SLASH!
1. Bollocks

A Christmas Carol for Draco Malfoy

Pairings: SLASH HP/DM LL/GW and Het RW/HG

Rating: M for language

I don't own A Christmas Carol or The Harry Potter Series unfortunately, because if I did, I would be rich and not writing this story. No Infringement intended or anything! Total AU for the last book and 19 years later...

Chapter 1 Bollocks!

Snape was dead: to begin with. There is no doubt whatever about that. Draco Malfoy was there to witness the dead and slowly decomposing body be put in the earth forever while worms ate at his flesh and turned him into fertilizer at an agonizing pace that would make even a snail cringe.

Severus Snape was as dead as the Dark Lord.

Malfoy knew he was dead? Of course he did. How could it be otherwise? Snape had been a family friend for many years. Draco was his sole executor, his sole administrator, his sole assign, his sole residuary legatee, his sole friend, and sole mourner. And even Malfoy was not so dreadfully cut up by the sad event, but that he was an excellent man of Potions making on the very day of the funeral, and because of that, surely Draco Malfoy would loose a chance to really sit down and learn the art .

The mention of Snape's funeral brings me back to the point Draco started from. There is no doubt that Severus Snape was dead. This must be distinctly understood, or nothing wonderful can come of the story. If we were not perfectly convinced that Hamlet's Father died before the play began, there would be nothing more remarkable in his taking a stroll at night, in an easterly wind, upon his own ramparts, than there would be in any other middle-aged gentleman rashly turning out after dark in a breezy spot -- say Godric's Hollow for instance -- literally to astonish his son's weak mind.

Malfoy never painted out Snape's name. There it stood, years afterwards, above the Potions classroom door: Professor Snape. Oh! But he was a tight-fisted hand at the grindstone, Malfoy! a sneering, wretched, egotistical, Muggleborn hating, selfish, conniving prat! Hard and sharp as flint, from which no steel had ever struck out generous fire; secret, and self-contained, and solitary as an oyster. The cold within him froze his young features, nipped his pointed nose, sharpened his cheek, stiffened his gait; made his eyes cold, his thin lips blue and spoke out shrewdly in his nasily voice.

Nobody ever stopped him in the hallways to say, with gladsome looks, `Professor Malfoy, how are you? When will you come to see me?' No students asked him for help, no house elves dared to look him in the eye, no colleague of his ever once in all his life inquired if he would like to sit next to him during a meal. But what did Draco Malfoy care! It was the very thing he liked. To edge his way along the crowded paths of life, warning all human sympathy to keep its distance because he could not be hurt again, never again.

Once upon a time -- of all the good days in the year, on Christmas Eve -- Professor Malfoy sat busy in his Classroom. It was cold, bleak, biting weather: foggy withal: and he could hear the occasional patter of feet outside of the room. The door of Malfoy's room was open that he might keep his eye upon his apprentice, who in a dismal little cell beyond, a sort of tank, was grading essays. Malfoy had a very small fire, but the apprentice's fire was so very much smaller that it looked like one coal. The apprentice however, was donned in an atrocious sweater that looked as though a colour blind woman picked it out.

"Happy Christmas Malfoy, how are you?" It was the voice of Malfoy's old enemy, whom had entered the room so quickly that this was the first time that Malfoy had heard him approach.

"Bollocks!" Malfoy grumbled, not looking up once to see his once old enemy, Ron Weasley.

"You can't mean that Malfoy, sure as hell Christmas isn't Bollocks, quite the contrary." Ron said to Malfoy.

"Happy Christmas, HAPPY? Why should you be happy, you and Granger have six Halfbloods already, Christmas is a very hard time for you, you're poor enough..." Malfoy said snidely.

"Then Why the Hell are you so depressed, you're rich enough!" Ron said harshly, anger slowly rising.

"Bollocks," was Malfoys answer.

"Don't act like that, it's Christmas!"

Why shouldn't I, when I live in such a world full of idiots? Happy Christmas! Fuck Christmas! What's Christmas time to you but a time for paying bills without money; a time for finding yourself a year older, and yet another hour closer to death? If I could get away with it, every moron who goes about chanting "Happy Christmas" should be smothered in his own mince pie, and buried with a stake of holly through his heart. So fuck Christmas!

"Malfoy..."Ron begain but was sharply cut off by Malfoy.

"You celebrate your way and I will celebrate mine."

"Celebrate! You don't celebrate!" Ron exclaimed.

"Let me leave it alone, then. Hell lot of good it's done for you!" Malfoy hissed, his grey gaze narrowed.

"There are many things from which I might have gotten some good, by which I have not profited, I dare say, Christmas among it. But I'm sure I have always thought of Christmas time, when it has come round as a good time; a kind, forgiving, charitable, pleasant time: the only time I know of, in the long calendar of the year, when men and women seem by one consent to open their shut-up hearts freely, and to think of people below them as if they really were fellow men, and not another race of creatures bound on other journeys. And because of that Malfoy, even though I never got a galleon, sickle or knut out of it, I believe that it has done me good, and will do me good; and I say, God bless it!" Ron says, to which his sister, and Malfoy's apprentice, Ginny starts to applaud a little bit.

"Weasley, you have changed my mind, I will give and give until my little shrivled up heart explodes." Malfoy said sarcastically, glaring at the tall red head infront of him.

"Don't be like that, my mum wanted to know if you would like to eat with us tomorrow for dinner."

"No,"

"Come on, why?" Ron asked.

"Why did you get married?" Malfoy asked.

Ron looked confused but answered, "because I fell in love..."

"You fell in love with the Mudblood and I fell in love with my money and solitude..." Malfoy said, pointing at the door.

"Wha'?"

"Get out Weasel."

"Please Malfoy, my Mum really wants you there!" Ron exclaimed

"Go away Weasley."

"Damn you, if you are going to be a right prick about it, the Happy Christmas, a million times Happy Christmas!" Ron yelled while handing Ginny her lunch that he brought.

"OUT!"

"And A HAPPY NEW YEAR!"

"Bollocks..." Malfoy mumbled and returned to his work.

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	2. Whoever said Malfoy was caring RUN!

Disclaimer: I do not own anything, sad but no infringment intended!

Who said Malfoy was caring? Because, he seriously wants to kill them...

Ginny Weasley smiled slightly at her brothers antics but kept at work, until the need to use the Loo presented itself and she got up and opened the door, the Weasley, instead of letting her self out had let two other people in. They were portly gentlemen, beefy and screamed of high society, they both held an enormous stack of papers in each hand.

"Professor Snape?" The first gentleman questioned, looking very uncomfortable in being there.

"Professor Snape has been deceased for some time now, he died ridding us of the Dark Lord." Malfoy said, Ginny frowned, this was possibly the most pleasant way she had ever heard Malfoy speak to another human being.

"Ah well, we have no doubt that if you are his succsessor that you will get the job done just as well as he would." The second gentleman said, smiling which seemed odd on his rather neandrathal looking face.

"At this festive season of the year,it is more than usually desirable that we should make some slight provision for the Poor and Destitute, who suffer greatly at the present time. Many thousands are in want of common necessaries; hundreds of thousands are in want of common comforts, sir."

"And why on earth should that bother me?"

"Because of the situation they are in..."

"Are there no jobs for the poor? There certainly must be, I even noticed three ads in the Prophet for jobs."

"Ah, but some of the Poor are embarassed of their situation." The second gentleman said, his voice slightly trembling.

"So, with all of the recent knowledge, am I to guess you don't need me to make a potion for you?" Malfoy said, eyes slowly becoming slits.

"You are correct, sir." The two men said in unison.

"Then what the bloody hell are you doing here then?" Ginny winced, and there went the pleasent tone that was acctually nice to hear for a change...Bollocks.

"Well, as you know there are many families suffering in the aftermath of the Dark Lord and still are rebuilding their lives, we, the wealthy simply want to be able to say that we have done our part, however small to help them get on with their lives. So we are collecting donations for them, so, how much should I put ypu down for?" The more good looking of the two gentlemen said, his quill poised over the paper.

"Nothing," Malfoy said simply, turning away from them.

"So," The second man said. "You wish to be anonymous then?"

"I wish to be left alone. Since you ask me what I wish, gentlemen, that is my answer. I don't make merry myself at Christmas and I can't stand to make idiotic people merry. For if people do want my support, then they should find themselves an acctual job, or go to Gingotts and get a loan." Malfoy said, his shoulders tensing, but still he did not turn around.

"Many would rather die than admit they are poor."

"Well, if they would rather die, they had better do it, and let the real hardworking people live, because, like natural selection, I believe that they will be weeded out in years to come. They might as well save us the trouble of doing it later and do it now." Malfoy replied, his long fingers twitching at his side.

"Surely you can't think that!"

"You, my dear lunatic, do not hold the brain capacity to handle Occlumency, even though I highly doubt you even know what that is. I _do _think that, and surely you don't which is why we are at an impass, you wont leave until I give you something and I sure as hell wont give you anything... But I will curse you with a particular nasty body bind, and then have my Apprentice draag you out and set you atop the Christmas tree in the Great Hall, how does that sound?"

The two gentlemen turned and walked away with out a cursory glance behind them...Wankers.

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I know it was really short but I have to get ready for Christmas...YAY!


	3. Severus Snape

Disclaimer: Don't Own and no infringment intended

Chapter 3: Severus Snape

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As Malfoy and Ginny Weasley settled down to some work again, a pair of students could be heard outside of the door singing Jingle Bells, probably Hufflepuffs, Malfoy thought snidely and seized his wand and wrenched open the door with such force that Ginny's fire went out. The two children, a Hufflepuff and a Slytherin (Much to Draco's dismay) fled in terror as the cold professor took one hundred points each from their respective houses. As the night went on, thankfully with no more interuptions, the end of the day arrived and Malfoy dismounted his leather chair and moved his gaze over to Ginny who was putting on her hat.

"You want tomorrow off, I suppose?" Malfoy quiered her.

"If that's okay, Professor..." She said, hoping beyond hope that she would have the day off.

"It is not convienient, you waste the twenty fifth of December, but I suppose you want the whole day off as well. Be here all the earlier on Saturday, and you are going to work Sunday as well." Ginny nodded greatfully and promised she would, she waved good bye and went through the fireplace home to... Well, who ever she had at home.

Draco Malfoy let out a small growl as he placed impentitrable charms in order to make sure that no student could break in and do something idiotic with his supplies, like blowing themselves up, while it would amuse Malfoy, the Headmistress would surely not like it in the slightest.

Malfoy took his melancholy dinner in his usual melancholy end of the teachers table where no one sat; and having read all the essays, and set to grading the first years tests whose grades were miserable by the way, went to bed. He lived in chambers which had once belonged to his deceased Professor, Severus Snape. They were a gloomy suite of rooms.

Now, it is a fact, that there was nothing at all particular about the Portrait to his rooms, except that it was very large. It is also a fact, that Malfoy had seen it, night and morning, during his whole residence in that place; also that Malfoy had always avoided really looking the portrait of Slytherin in the eye and unlike Snape, he hated conversing with it. And then as Malfoy came closer to the door, not standing a foot away from it was not Salazar Slytherin, no, but Severus Snape.

Snape's face. It couldn't be a play on the lights because there were no shadows to do that to it, and obviously, no ghost of Hogwarts would dare to play a practical joke on Malfoy, not after what happened to Peeves. It was not angry or ferocious, but looked at Malfoy like Snape used to look: with ghostly eyes staring coldly at him with a ghostly sneer. The hair was curiously stirred, as if by breath or hot air; and, though the eyes were wide open, they were perfectly motionless. That, and its livid colour, made it horrible; but its horror seemed to be in spite of the face and beyond its control, rather than a part or its own expression.

As Malfoy looked fixedly at this phenomenon, it was a partrait again.

"Password!"

"Namuh." And the portrait swung open, he did pause before walking through, he does llok behind him after the door closes and he half expects to see Snape's backside sticking out, but there was nothing on the back of the portrait other than the usual stain.

"Merlin's balls," Malfoy sighed before walking through his rooms to see that all was right, nothing was out of place.

He walked up the stairs in the darkness, darkness wasn't judging, Malfoy liked that immensly.

Sitting-room, bedroom, lavatory. All as they should be. Nobody under the table, nobody under the sofa; a small fire in the grate. Nobody under the bed; nobody in the closet; nobody in his dressing-gown, which was hanging up in a suspicious attitude against the wall.

Quite satisfied, he closed his door, and locked himself in; double-locked himself in, which was not his custom. Thus secured against surprise, he took off his cloak; put on his dressing-gown and slippers, and sat down by the fire to read. It was a very low fire indeed; nothing on such a bitter night. He was obliged to sit close to it, and brood over it, before he could extract the least sensation of warmth, the fire went out.

"Bollocks," He sighed.

As he threw his head back in the chair, his glance happened to rest upon a bell, a disused bell, that hung in the room, and had most likely been Snape's as it had been there when he had moved in and hadn't the heart to take it down. It was with great astonishment, and with a strange, inexplicable dread, that as he looked, he saw this bell begin to swing. It swung so softly in the outset that it scarcely made a sound; but soon it rang out loudly, and so did every bell in the house.

This might have lasted half a minute, or a minute, but it seemed an hour. The bells ceased as they had begun, together. They were succeeded by a clanking noise, deep down below; as if some person were dragging a heavy chain over the casks in the wine merchant's cellar. Malfoy then scrambled for his wand. The cellar-door flew open with a booming sound, and then he heard the noise much louder, on the floors below; then coming up the stairs; then coming straight towards his door.

"It's probably just my imagination after all, nothing to worry about." He said, sinking back further in his chair.

His colour changed though, when, without a pause, it came on through the heavy door, and passed into the room before his eyes. Upon its coming in, the dying flame lept up and Malfoy's eyes widened

"P-Professor!"

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	4. A Warning

Disclaimer: Don't own No infringement intended!

Chapter 4: The Warning

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The same face: the very same. The very same same smirk and sallow complexion. His greasy hair seemed to float about him and and his nose seemed to be even more crooked then when he was alive. He was wearing his usual pitch black robes that swirled around him. But here were chains around him that clinked with his every movment

Malfoy had often heard that Snape had no heart, he had never believed it until now.

"Why the fuck are you here?" Malfoy said, pushing him self closer into the chair, and picking his legs off the floor and clutching them to his chest.

"Be quiet and listen Draco," the Snape look alike said.

"Who are you?"

"Ask me who I _was_." Snape said with a shake of his head.

"Who _were _you then?" Malfoy said, sneering.

"I was your professor, Severus Snape."

"Merlin's balls!"Draco exclaimed, all propriety forgotten.

"Language Mr. Malfoy, you are not a knuckle dragging muggle." Snape drawled, Malfoy now had no further concern that it wasn't Snape.

"Can you sit, Severus?"

"Yes," Snape said.

"Do it then, please..." Malfoy had added the please as an after thought, he didn't like getting reprimanded by a Ghost.

"Your mother sends her love, as does Pansy," Snape said, taking a seat.

"They are in hell then?" Draco questioned the apparition.

"No, Heaven."

"Heaven...didn't expect you to be there, when one thinks of Heaven they think of Albus Dumbledore or Minerva McGonagall, not Severus Snape." Draco said.

"It is nice to know that you think I would fit in better in Hell."

"You did like to torture students," Draco said pleasantly, forgetting the fact that a dead man was conversing with him.

"Not corporalaly."

"Only because it wasn't allowed," Draco replied.

"True."

"Why do you have chains Severus?" Draco asked the spirit.

"I could not stay bound to the Earth without them, and my time to warn you is running out." Snape said, all humor gone from his ghostly face.

"Warn me?"

"Yes, warn you...and if you keep repeating me then we will never finish this conversation!" Snape said snappishly.

"Sorry."

"Now, heed my warning Draco Malfoy. You will be haunted tonight by three spirits."

"Haunted?"

"Silence!"Snape cut Draco off glaring at him." You have a chance to save your self and escape the fate of walking the lands of Earth forever, never once being able to see your loved ones again."

"I have to be haunted to recieve hope?" Malfoy said suspicsiously.

"Yes."

"I'd rather not."

"Without them, you will go to Hell Draco. Expect the first apparition when the bell tolls one."

"Why can't they all just come at once?"

"Just be quiet, that isn't how it works."

"Expect the second ghost at two and the third ghost at three, be careful and heed my advice Draco." Snape said and the clinking of the chains ceased.

Draco ventured to raise his eyes again, and found his supernatural visitor confronting him in an erect attitude, with its chain wound over and about its arm.

The apparition walked backward from him; and at every step it took, the window raised itself a little, so that when the spectre reached it, it was wide open. It beckoned Malfoy to approach, which he did. When they were within two paces of each other, Snape's Ghost held up its hand, warning him to come no stopped.

Not so much in obedience, as in surprise and fear: for on the raising of the hand, he became sensible of confused noises in the air; incoherent sounds of lamentation and regret; wailings inexpressibly sorrowful and self-accusatory. The spectre, after listening for a moment, joined in the mournful dirge; and floated out upon the bleak, dark night.

Malfoy followed to the window: desperate in his curiosity. He looked out.

There was nothing there anymore, not even a creature in the distance. Malfoy closed the window, and examined the door by which the Ghost had entered. It was double-locked, as he had locked it with his own hands, and the bolts were undisturbed. He tried to say...

"Bol-" But stopped at the first syllable for fear that the ghost would come back....

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	5. The Christmas Ghostie

Disclaimer: JK Rowling and Charles Dickens own them respectively, I just combine them!

Warning: Child Abuse, Language and Slash

Chapter 5: The Christmas Ghostie

The curtains of his bed were drawn aside; and Malfoy, staring out into space, thinking over the visit of his old Professor, suddenly found himself face to face with an unearthly visitor. It certainly was a strange figure, and from what Draco saw of it, as it seemed to blend in with the darkness that invaded his room, was that it appeared to be a strange midget looking thing. With big eyes that seemed to glisten with a sheen that made Draco wince. His skin was an odd mix between grey and brown and his skin was flabby and unevenly spaced around his body. The outline of his ears were, from what Malfoy could tell, enormous. He was wearing a loose fitting garment and had on a stocking cap that looked like miny snitches were floating around on it.

"Are you the first ghost then?" Malfoy asked, sitting up on his bed to get a better look at it, it seemed that it was a house elf, but that could not be right, House Elves couldn't become ghosts... Could they?

'Mother always said that serving was a House Elf's heaven and once they died they just disappeared.' Draco thought, looking the thing up and down.

"I is Mister Malfoy sirs!" It squeaked, Malfoy thought he could recognize the voice but surely that was impossible.

"Who and _what _are you?" Malfoy asked with a sneer on his face.

"I is the Ghostie of Chrismis pas'...but my names Dobby. You's can call me Ghostie Dobby!" Oh, Dobby. The lunatic House Elf that Draco had acctually been glad to leave, the House Elf was certifiably crazy and Death didn't seem to have improved his mental state at all.

"Long past?" Malfoy questioned the _Ghostie_.

"Oh No's just yo' pas' Mister Malfoy sirs!" Dobby said extatically, the Elf seemed to love his job more than nessecary.

"Why are you here?"

"So you's don't ends up in Hells!" Doby exclaimed, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. "So, Mister Malfoy sirs, it be times to goes!" Dobby said and grasped Malfoy's arm with a cold touch.

Dobby led them over to the window and giggled at Malfoy's face, "I, unlike you, am mortal and thus, liable to fall." Malfoy pointed out to the spirit.

"You can'ts as longs as I is holding on to you's." Dobby said and as the words were spoken, they passed through the wall, and stood upon an old country road, with wide spaces on either side. The castle had entirely vanished. Not a vestige of it was to be seen. The darkness and the mist had vanished with it, for it was a clear, cold, winter day, with snow upon the ground.

"Merlin's balls, we are near Malfoy Manor, I was raised there!" Malfoy said excitedly, breathing in thousands of odors, each one connected with a thousand thoughts, hopes, joys and cares, long, long forgotten. They walked along the road, Malfoy recognising every gate, and post, and tree; until a little market-town appeared in the distance, with its bridge, its church, and winding river.

"Why aren't they staring at you, I mean you are the more noticeable out of the two of us." Malfoy pointed out.

"Oh, they is just shadows, they can't sees us, no worries Mr. Malfoy sirs." The ghost pointed out.

There were four children Malfoy could remember very well who were gathered outside, conversing among each other.

"Why that is Pansy and Blaise! Not to mention Vincent and Greg... It has been so long since I have seen them!" Malfoy said, smiling slightly.

"You's were left at the manors. Mr. Malfoy sirs... Master Malfoys was teaching yous a lesson, yous were in troubles agains."

They left the high-road, by a well-remembered lane, and soon approached a mansion of dull red brick, vast and imposing, Malfoy got slightly misty eyed at the sight of his adolescent went, the Ghost and Malfoy, toward a door at the back of the house. It opened before them, and disclosed a long, bare, melancholy room. At one of these a lonely boy was reading near a feeble fire; and Draco sat down and stared at himself as a younger boy, the boy whom tried so hard to please a man who could never love him, the man who killed his mother, the man who destroyed his life. Not a latent echo in the house, not a squeak and scuffle from the House Elves that normally roamed the halls, not a sigh among the leafless boughs of one despondent poplar, not the idle swinging of an empty store-house door, no, not a clicking in the fire, but fell upon the heart of Malfoy with a softening influence, and gave into the overwhelming feeling of grief that had washed over him. He let out body shaking sobs that he had never experienced in his entire life.

The Spirit touched him on the arm, and pointed to his younger self, intent upon his reading. Suddenly the younger version of Draco reached to them hem of his shirt and lifted it slightly,there on his abdomen were several bruises that were all in different stages of healing.

"It's okay, daddy loves me. It's okay, daddy loves me. This was for my own good." Was repeated as they young boy caressed to bruises in a sick fashion that made Draco sob a little harder, if that were even possible.

"I wish I would've gotten away from the man, both me and my mother." Draco hissed through his tears.

"But thens yous would've had no places to stays or monies to spend." Dobby pointed out.

"I'd would have rather been poor then spend the rest of my life with that bastard."

"Let's sees another Chrismis."

They had but that moment left the manor behind them, they were now in the busy streets of a city, here shadowy passengers passed and re passed; where shadowy carts and coaches battle for the way, and all the strife and tumult of a real city were. It was made plain enough, by the dressing of the shops, that here too it was Christmas time again; but it was evening, and the streets were lighted up.

The Ghost stopped at a certain warehouse door, and asked Malfoy if he knew it.

"I know where we are, this is where we used to hold parties after apprenticing, me, Weasley, Pansy, Blaise and...Har-_Potter_." Draco said, choking out the last name.

Dobby and Malfoy waked in to find it a buzz with people, many of whom were dancing and drinking, Draco smiled, a full blown smile, the first one he had had in years as he saw Pansy and Blaise flirting awkwardly with each other. There were many people he could not remember, and wasn't even sure he knew who they were when he first invited them. He saw Luna Lovegood and his apprentice Ginny Weasley talking with each other animatedly and wished that he would have given her longer to spend time with her family. He noticed Ron Weasley by the cake and watched as his pregnant wife ate nearly as much as the ginger did, which was quite a feat in anyone's books.

Malfoy scanned the room for more people he knew when he came upon it. Malfoy saw his younger self dancing with Potter, smiling and laughing, no, that was to painful, focus on something else, Lavender Brown and Millicent Bullstrode were kissing under the mistletoe, oh no, that was nearly as, if not more, painful than seeing Harry again. It had been so long since he had seen the other man. He was just as handsome as Malfoy remembered, unruly black hair, pale skin, emerald green eyes that were behind ridiculously big glasses. He and Draco made an odd but perfect pair. Younger Draco whispered something in younger Harry's ear, Harry smirked (something the man had never mastered in their time together) and leaned up to kiss Draco. Oh god, how he missed the feel of Harry's lips on his, the way that he would part them after a few seconds and lick Draco's bottom lip, asking for entry, which Draco had always accepted.

"What's the matters?"

"Nothing that concerns you."

"So there is somethings thens! Tell Ghostie Dobby!" The apparition said.

"It is just hard seeing all this," Malfoy explained to the creature.

"There still be more's to sees Mr. Malfoy sirs," Dobby said smiling, and then Draco was shown his worst memory.

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Please give me some feedback, I really need help with how to write Dobby and this is my first time writing slash ever, so some advice would be nice.

MadMarchHare


	6. The Metaphorical Death of Draco's Heart

Disclaimer: Neither A Christmas Carol or Harry Potter are mine, though I wish they were! No infringement intended.

Warning: Character Death, not a main character but still, death

Chapter 6: The Metaphorical Death of Draco's Heart

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Again Draco Malfoy saw himself. He was slightly older now; a man just in the middle of his apprenticeship. He was not alone, but sat by the side of a slightly older Harry Potter as well, the other man was wearing black dress robes and in those emerald eyes were tears, which glinted sorrowfully in the light that shone out of the Ghost of Christmas Past.

"Draco, it seems as though we just aren't the same anymore, that we have just grown so apart that it is nearly impossible to mend the damage that has already been done." Harry whispered, not daring to look at Draco.

"What do you mean? You accepted the wedding ring I gave you, you promised me eternity, my idol." Idol had been a nickname that Draco had called Harry, as he was the 'idol' to the wizarding world.

"Another idol has come in to your life." Harry explained.

"Which one?" Draco asked, his voice growing steadily louder.

"A power hungry one."

"How could you say that? I strive in my work so that our children may have a future, without being ridiculed as Death Eater children or anything else, I do it for you!" Draco exclaimed, standing up off of the bench.

"Draco, you have changed, when we first got together it was perfect, not saying that there weren't any bumps in the road, there were, but still it was good. Now I feel that when I sleep next to you that I am sleeping next to your father."

"I AM NOTHING LIKE HIM." Draco yelled, all heads turning towards the pair.

"Calm down, Draco. I just think we need a break."

"NO, I WILL NOT BE CALM!" Draco exclaimed, he huffed and then turned to Harry with ice cold eyes.

"Give me the ring." He said, reaching out his hand towards Harry.

Harry heaved a great sob and placed the ring in Draco's palm. His lingered in the outstretched hand until Draco snapped it shut and turned away from Harry.

"Goodbye Harry Potter."

"Draco, please..."

And with that, Draco Malfoy turned his back on the only person he had ever loved.

"Please, just take me home, why are you torturing me?"

"I is not trying to Mr. Malfoy sirs! Honest I is not, buts I gots to show you one mores thing!"

"Please, no...."

There sitting in a pool of her own blood was Pansy Zabini, her husband, Blaise, stood above her sobbing into Draco's shoulder, the second worst Chistmas he had ever had. Pansy had killed herself when she found out that their six year old son was a squib. A squib, something as simple as that, but it was different then, only three or so years ago.

"Draco, why would she do that?"

"Your child is as useless as a Muggle, why else would she?" Draco responded to Blaise's question.

Blaise's sobs grew even louder and their son, Charles, walked in and saw his mother lying in a pool of blood, he ran out screaming Blaise chasing after the scared child. Draco stayed and watched the blood begin to darken around Pansy's body. The younger man let a single tear fall from his eye as he gazed helplessly at his best friends body, slowly becoming cold. And as the body took the pale sheen of death, Draco Malfoy's heart became solid and unfeeling.

"Please, just take me back, just take me back." Draco pleaded with the spirit.

In the struggle, if that can be called a struggle in which the Ghost with no visible resistance on its own part was undisturbed by any effort of its adversary, Draco observed that its light was burning high and bright; and dimly connecting that with its influence over him, he seized the stocking cap, and by a sudden action pressed it down upon its head. He was conscious of being exhausted, and overcome by an irresistible drowsiness; and, further, of being in his own bedroom. He gave the cap a parting squeeze, in which his hand relaxed; and had barely time to reel to bed, before he sank into a heavy sleep.

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	7. The Ghost of Christmas Present

Disclaimer: No infringement intended...so, enjoy

Chapter Seven: The Ghost of Christmas Present

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Awaking in the middle of an exceedingly momentoussnore, and sitting up in bed to get his thoughts together, Malfoy had no occasion to be told that the bell was again upon the stroke of One. He felt that he was restored to consciousness in the right nick of time, for the special purpose of holding a conference with the second messenger dispatched to him through Severus Snape's intervention. But, finding that he turned uncomfortably cold when he began to wonder which of his curtains this new spectre would draw back, he put them every one aside with his own hands, and lying down again, established a sharp look-out all round the bed. For, he wished to challenge the Spirit on the moment of its appearance, and did not wish to be taken by surprise, and made nervous.

Now, being prepared for almost anything, he was not by any means prepared for nothing; and, consequently, when the Bell struck One, and no shape appeared, he was taken with a violent fit of trembling. Five minutes, ten minutes, a quarter of an hour went by, yet nothing came. All this time, he lay upon his bed, the very core and centre of a blaze of ruddy light, which streamed upon it when the clock proclaimed the hour; and which, being only light, was more alarming than a dozen ghosts, as he was powerless to make out what it meant, At last, however, he began to think -- as you or I would have thought at first; for it is always the person not in the predicament who knows what ought to have been done in it, and would unquestionably have done it too -- at last, I say, he began to think that the source and secret of this ghostly light might be in the adjoining room, from whence, on further tracing it, it seemed to shine. This idea taking full possession of his mind, he got up softly and shuffled in his slippers to the door.

The moment Malfoy's hand was on the lock, a strange, yet slightly familiar voice called him by his name, and bade him enter. He obeyed, albeit reluctantly and opened the door.

It was his own room. There was no doubt about that. But it had undergone a surprising transformation. The walls and ceiling were so hung with living green, that it looked a perfect grove; from every part of which, bright gleaming scarlet berries glistened. The crisp leaves of holly, mistletoe, and ivy reflected back the light, as if so many little mirrors had been scattered there.

"Come'n Come'n, Mister Malfoy, get'n 'ere." The grufff voice called out. Malfoy entered timidly, and hung his head before this Spirit. He was not the confident Malfoy he had been; and though the Spirit's eyes were upon him, he did not have the courage to look upon them.

"Now listen up, I'm th' Ghost of Christmas Present, so look up 'ere." The voice boomed.

Malfoy reverently did so. It was clothed in one simple green robe, bordered with white fur. On its head it wore no other covering than a holly wreath, set here and there with shining icicles. But the vestiments are not what made Draco Malfoy gasp, it was the fact that his old Care of Magical Creatures teacher was sitting before him. His eyes were the same beetle black as they had been before and his hair was dark that was streaked with grey. Draco Malfoy took a step back at seeing the man again and the man, whom Draco had always suspected was half giant, laughed boisterously at him.

"Been a long time since you seen me, eh? I thin' you still owe me an essay."

"Really?" Draco asked, but, he could remember the essay on Hippogriffs he had refused to do, sighting emotional trauma as his explination in third year.

"Oh yep, but thas not why I'm 'ere. Touch my robe, Mr. Malfoy." Hagrid said, and so, Malfoy did as he was told, and held on to it so tightly that his knuckles were turning white.

Holly, mistletoe, red berries, ivy, turkeys, geese, sausages, pies, puddings, and punch, all vanished instantly. So did the room, the fire, the ruddy glow, the hour of night, and they stood in the city streets on Christmas morning, where the people made a rough, but brisk and not unpleasant kind of music, in scraping the snow from the pavement in front of their dwellings, and from the tops of their houses, whence it was mad delight to the boys to see it come plumping down into the road below, and splitting into artificial little snow-storms.

The house fronts looked black enough, and the windows blacker, contrasting with the smooth white sheet of snow upon the roofs, and with the dirtier snow upon the ground; which last deposit had been ploughed up in deep furrows by the heavy wheels of carts and waggons; furrows that crossed and recrossed each other hundreds of times where the great streets branched off; and made intricate channels, hard to trace in the thick yellow mud and icy water. The sky was gloomy, and the shortest streets were choked up with a dingy mist, half thawed, half frozen, whose heavier particles descended in shower of sooty atoms, as if all the chimneys in Great Britain had, by one consent, caught fire, and were blazing away to their dear hearts' content. There was nothing very cheerful in the climate or the town, and yet was there an air of cheerfulness abroad that the clearest summer air and brightest summer sun might have endeavoured to diffuse in vain.

For, the people who were shovelling away on the housetops were jovial and full of glee; calling out to one another from the parapets, and now and then exchanging a snowball -- better-natured missile far than many a wordy jest -- laughing heartily if it went right and not less heartily if it went wrong. The poulterers' shops were still half open, and the fruiterers' were radiant in their glory. There were great, round, pot-bellied baskets of chestnuts, shaped like the waistcoats of jolly old gentlemen, lolling at the doors, and tumbling out into the street in their apoplectic opulence.

But soon the steeples called good people all, to church and chapel, and away they came, flocking through the streets in their best clothes, and with their gayest faces. And at the same time there emerged from scores of bye-streets, lanes, and nameless turnings, innumerable people, carrying their dinners to the baker' shops. The sight of these poor revellers appeared to interest the Spirit very much, for he stood with Scrooge beside him in a baker's doorway, and taking off the covers as their bearers passed, sprinkled incense on their dinners from his torch. And it was a very uncommon kind of torch, for once or twice when there were angry words between some dinner-carriers who had jostled each other, he shed a few drops of water on them from it, and their good humour was restored directly. For they said, it was a shame to quarrel upon Christmas Day. And so it was. God love it, so it was.

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Kind of short, but I tried to make it longer. Thanks to everyone that reviewed, that really helped me upload the story....

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	8. In Which Margaret Thatcher is not Jesus

Disclaimer: I don't own this...

AN: Thanks for the reviews everyone, they really spurred me on to write more...

A little clarification: All of their children are adopted, but Mpreg and FeMpreg is possible, just not possible for either Luna or Ginny, they are both left barren after the war.

Chapter 8: In Which Margaret Thatcher is not Jesus

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And perhaps it was the pleasure the good Spirit had in showing off this power of his, or else it was his own kind, generous, hearty nature, and his sympathy with all poor men, that led him straight to Malfoy's Assistant; for there he went, and took Draco Malfoy with him, holding to his robe; and on the threshold of the door the Spirit smiled, and stopped to bless Ginny Weasley's dwelling with the sprinkling of his torch.

Then up rose Luna Lovegood, Ginny's wife, dressed oddly, as she always had, in a dark green sequined dress with ornaments enchanted to float around her, a star placed on her pale locks that shone brightly. While Their oldest son Remus Weasley plunged a fork into the saucepan of potatoes, rejoiced to find himself so gallantly attired, in what Draco could only assume was one of Loony's ideas, as he looked like a mix between a Christmas Elf and an odd bunny. And now two smaller Weasley's, boy and girl, came tearing in, screaming that outside their neighbor, the Bullstrode's were creating fireworks for the children, Draco recognised them as Celeste and Colin, named after Luna's mother and Colin Creevey respectivly."I really hope the Crumple-Harned Snorkack that lives with the Widow across the way didn't get Ginny, or your brother and sister, who is quite late, the Hogwarts express should have come in by now, the train may have gotten infested with Nargles..." Luna said dreamily, dancing around the table to give each of her children a kiss.

"Mum, Mum, I see Eloise, I see her!" Remus exclaimed excitedly, his odd outfit jingling as he jumped down from the stool he was upon.

"Yay! I missed her so much!" Colin said excitedly, Celeste nodded and pointed out that Pie, the Owl had gotten extremely big.

"He is as big as a goose now." She remarked

"You are quite late, did a Nwerkdal stop you on the way here?" Luna asked, clutching her daughter in all but blood to her, she and Ginny had taken Eloise in after her fater, Antonin Dolohov died, and left his seven year old daughter alone.

"I stayed at the Crawley's longer than I expected, they just got a Niffler named Pandora, and it is so cute!" The first year Gryffindor exclaimed.

"As long as it wasn't anything visicous like a Nwerkdal, I am fine with you being late." Luna said smiling at Eloise.

"I see Ma, I see her, I see her!"

"Eloise, Hide!" Colin said, giggling.

So Eloise hid herself, and in came Ginny Weasley, the other Mother, with their youngest child, Joshua whose thin body was being held in Ginny's arms as he could not walk anymore. Noah was deathly pale, but a smile was still in place on his thin face.

"Where's Eloise?" Ginny asked looking around their home.

"Oh, she's not coming, said she had too much homework." Luna said, trying to look forlorn and instead she came off as looking slightly more insane than she already was, Draco mused.

"Not coming? Not coming for Christmas?" Joshua spoke up, smile gone from his gaunt face. Eloise didn't like to see him disappointed, even if it was only in joke; so she came out prematurely from behind the closet door, and ran into Ginny's arms, while the two younger Weasley's hustled Joshua over to the chair that was always reserved for him.

'The best one.' Draco thought with a slight smile, but quickly hid it as he felt Hagrid's eyes upon him.

"And how was Noah, no more Quarlumps in his head I hope." Luna asked her wife, placing a kiss on the freckled and Rosy cheek.

" As good as gold, and better. Somehow he gets thoughtful, sitting by himself so much, and thinks the strangest things you ever heard. He told me that he liked the Muggles staring upon him, he said that he hoped that seeing him might remind them of who cured the blind and made the mute speak." Ginny said, slight tears in her eyes. Luna smiled serenly and quietly hugged Ginny to her, not wanting the children to see their Mother crying.

"That was Margret Thatcher, correct?" Luna asked her wife.

"Jesus love, it was Jesus..." Ginny reminded her, and the two broke their silent embrace and went to go see to geting Christmas dinner ready.

"Wiill Joshua live?" Draco Malfoy asked the Ghost.

"I see a vac'nt seat, in the poor chimney-corner, and a beautiful chair, carefull' preserved. If in the sad'ws remain, then yea' the child'll die." Hagrid said, looking sadly over the family.

"Surely there is some potion I could use to help him..." Draco said to himself, unaware of the Ghost smiling and stroking his beard.

Such a bustle ensued that you might have thought a goose the rarest of all birds. Luna made the gravy hissing hot; Remus mashed the potatoes with incredible vigour; Eloise sweetened up the apple-sauce; Celeste dusted the hot plates; Ginny and Colin went about setting chairs about the table and then they helped Celeste set the places. At last the dishes were set on, and grace was said. It was succeeded by a breathless pause, as Ginny lifted her wand and said an incantation that set all the cutting utensils to work and soon before them sat a big feast.

At last the dinner was all done, the cloth was cleared, the hearth swept, and the fire made up. When the entire family sat around the hearth, a glass of firewhiskey, or in the childrens cases, butterbeer, in their hands as Ginny stood up, smiling at her family."A Merry Christmas to all of us! God bless us!"

"Merry Christmas!" Was the resounding cry as all the Weasley's lifted their glasses.

"God bless us, every one!" A thin and gasping voice called, Joshua's called and the entire family (And Draco Malfoy) smiled.

"And to Draco Malfoy, the founder of this feast."

"Founder in deed, If he was here, I would set the Snozzflorg that I captured in the cellar after him, and feed him with Christmas Spirit until he was Santa Claus himself.

"Love, Christmas..." Ginny reminded her, which prompted the angry looking Christmas tree to hop off of the chair she had jumped on to, midway through her rant.

"A Merry Christmas to him and a happy New Year." Luna said regretfully and downed her drink in one impressive swallow.

The children drank the toast after her. It was the first of their proceedings which had no heartiness. Joshua drank it last of all, but he didn't care two knuts for it. Malfoy was the ogre of the family. The mention of his name cast a dark shadow on the party, which was not dispelled for full five minutes.

After it had passed away, they were ten times merrier than before. Ginny Weasley told them that she had seen Remus' name on the acceptance list at Hogwarts. Which made the entire family merry, and the entire family had a debate over what house he would be in, so far, Ginny and Eloise thought Gryffindor. Celeste and Colin thought Hufflepuff. Joshua thought Ravenclaw and Luna had just smiled and said he would be in Slytherin, because of how good he looked in green.

Ah yes, a Merry Christmas at the Weasley house...

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	9. James

Disclaimer: Don't own

Chapter 9: James

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By this time it was getting dark, and snowing pretty heavily; and as Draco Malfoy and the Spirit went along the streets, the brightness of the roaring fires in kitchens, parlours, and all sorts of rooms, was wonderful. But, if you had judged from the numbers of people on their way to friendly gatherings, you might have thought that no one was at home to give them welcome when they got there, instead of every house expecting company, and piling up its fires half-chimney high. Blessings on it, how the Ghost exulted.

And now, without a word of warning from the Ghost, they stood upon a bleak and desert moor, where monstrous masses of rude stone were cast about, as though it were the burial-place of giants; and water spread itself wheresoever it listed, or would have done so, but for the frost that held it prisoner; and nothing grew but moss and furze, and coarse rank grass. Down in the west the setting sun had left a streak of fiery red, which glared upon the desolation for an instant, like a sullen eye, and frowning lower, lower, lower yet, was lost in the thick gloom of darkest night.

"Where on Earth are we?" Draco Malfoy asked, sneering at the bleakness of the place.

"Why at the Weasley's o'course. 'Mione 'n Ron's...Just bought i' fer cheap." Hagrid explained and with a slight whoosh, they were in Ron Weasley's house, which while depressing on the outside, was cheerful and homey on the inside.

"Bloody Hell!" A voice that could only be Ron Weasley's called out.

"RONALD BILLIUS WEASLEY! Not in front of the children!" A shrill voice called that Draco was positive was Granger. Sure enough it was, a head full of brown curls and a slightly tired face. The Weasley's had produced six children in the short four year frame, Hugo, Rose, Daliah, Athena, Rubeus and their newest member, a three month old, Alice. Not that any of them could really understand what their father was saying, just that their Mom was getting mad at them, which made Hugo and Rose giggle insanely.

"To All of those who couldn't be here." Ron said, leading their toast.

"You mean Malfoy then," A soft voice Draco recognized immediately as Harry Potter called out from a dark corner.

Draco turned to look at him so fast that he was sure he had surpassed the speed of light in his movement. There he was, the only person he ever truly loved, his only. He still had messy hair that framed his face beautifully, he no longer had glasses, which made his eyes even more prominent. He was pale and skinny, but was dressed festively in green and red. He however was balancing a four year old on his lap. The four year old had the same messy black hair and pale skin, he however had blue grey eyes that made Draco flinch. No, no this couldn't be right, they had used contraceptives...

Why, hadn't Harry came and told him, they could have been different, they could have worked everything out together. Draco felt a tear slide down his cheek, and then another, and another after that, until he was sobbing with such force he collapsed onto the floor. Hagrid patted his shoulder awkwardly and picked him up with one hand and placed him on his feet.

"I mean everyone mate,"Ron's voice drew Draco out of his stupor.

"And to Harry and James, who recently blessed us with their presence with their short trip here from the States."

"To Harry and James!" Everyone in the area cried out.

After tea. they had some music. The Ghost was greatly pleased to find him in this mood, and looked upon him with such favour, that Draco Malfoy begged like a boy to be allowed to stay until the guests (Mainly Harry and James Draconis Potter) departed. But this the Spirit said could not be done.

"Please, for just a little longer..."

But Hagrid sadly shook his head and grabbed on to Draco Malfoy's wrist, Malfoy peeked one last glance at Harry and James, who were both smiling at the crowd of mostly red heads, as Harry placed a delicate kiss on the boys forehead, Draco Malfoy swore that he would go to the pair the next day and try to talk to them, it was the very least he could do.

The bell struck two.

Draco looked about him for the Ghost, and saw it not.

As the last stroke ceased to vibrate, he remembered the prediction of Severus Snape, and lifting up his eyes, beheld a solemn Phantom, draped and hooded, coming, like a mist along the ground, towards him.

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